Summer Musings
by theotrophic
Summary: Irvine steals Squall away for a moment of quiet reflection when the crew goes camping. Post game.


**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. All belongs to our good Square friends.

**Author's Note:** Just as a point of clarification: this takes place along the coast outside Balamb. Not that it's incredibly important. That's just the imagery I had in my head while writing.

***

"Summer always gives me these chills. You know, a sense of expectation."

Squall didn't know, and he lifted a bemused eyebrow in response to his companion's statement.

"Hey man, don't give me that look," Irvine replied, flashing a toned-down version of his trademark grin. "You can't tell me you can't relate, at least a little. Even you, mister introverted Squall, were a kid once."

Now Irvine had completely lost him. Squall had thought they were talking about summer and now the cowboy was talking about childhood. It was times like these that made Squall almost regret shedding his unfriendly persona, his cool distance from everyone. But those days had ended, for better or for worse, and now Squall was emotionally entrenched. So, he brushed off the lingering teasing from comrades—friends—who were still unused to the change. They would learn. _Shiva knows I forfeited my right to indignation when I spent years being an ass._ The way Squall saw it, the teasing would stop eventually—after he had demonstrated through his actions that he was committed to changing. Actions like this one—this camp-out, ostensibly planned by Selphie to celebrate the end of the semester, the beginning of summer.

Instead of responding immediately, Squall let his gaze drift out over the ocean, then down the beach toward the rest of the group. Selphie and Quistis had dug a fire pit in the sand next to their large canvas tent and were crouched around it, attempting to ignite a pile of driftwood scraps. Zell was splashing in the surf, tumbling and diving as he dodged the Fastitocalons in his pursuit of more edible fish.

"You there, Commander?"

Squall brought his attention slowly back to his companion. Earlier Irvine had dragged him off, telling Selphie that the two of them were going to go get fuel for the evening's lanterns. Both Squall and Selphie had looked perplexed, and Irvine had produced two glass jars whose lids were littered with little holes. "Firefly lanterns," had drawled triumphantly. "And that means Squally-boy and I need to head up to the forest."

But, currently, the cowboy looked less triumphant and more exasperated at his silent companion.

"Yeah. Sorry. You lost me. What does my childhood have to do with the odd sensory associations you have of summer?"

"Why everything, of course," Irvine chuckled, apparently unconcerned at the disdainful edge in Squall's tone.

Squall didn't ask, but from the silence hanging between them, Irvine knew the quiet brunet expected an explanation. Irvine, however, seemed to be exacting his revenge for Squall's earlier quiet. The cowboy let the silence hang, listening to the surf surge against the sheer rock face they had seated themselves on, listening to the whisper of the salty breeze through the long grasses, listening to the distant laughter of the rest of the gang. Before beginning he plucked a straw of grass, twirled it around a few times in his long deft fingers, and then stuck it in his grinning mouth.

"You ever heard the saying 'every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end?' Or how about 'we own the night?' I've heard them all before—these wistful burnt ends of a rope that is unraveling faster and faster, beyond our control. The dying words whispered on the dying breath of a fading season. Yet their clichéd finality triggers something in me.

"Indescribable hope and debilitating fear well up inside me. I falter before the chasm of change, afraid to take the plunge, but all the while longing for the bone-deep freedom of the wind in my hair as I make the no-holds-barred leap into the unknown."

Squall looked up from the still-empty jar he had been rotating in his hands. His cowboy adjusted his ever-present hat, staring out to the horizon, his features schooled into an august countenance. Squall marveled at his companion's sudden solemnity, and also at how the setting sun's rays lit on Irvine's auburn mane. Golden strands tangled in with fiery copper ones, seeming to frame the serious face in a soft glow of candlelight. All the while Irvine kept up his monologue, unaware of Squall's scrutiny.

"But what is it that marks our progress, that forewarns us of this impending cliff? Last year we had Ultemicia. Reckless abandon. Entranced by our own beauty and power, we made ourselves giants—towering above consequence, unshakable monoliths in a mythology of stars. Anything was possible. Which is why we made ourselves invincible, unwilling to accept defeat. After that change was obvious, inevitable.

"Now what? The drudgery of meaningless SeeD missions and those nagging responsibilities that get tied to you after saving the world—it all seems less grand than I'd imagined. That's all I see in mirror looking back at me. But change is coming again. I can feel it in my bones—like a thunderstorm on the plains, I can sense it coming. I can feel the gathering of energy, can see the dark clouds forming in tumultuous masses.

"The fear is here again, and so is the awe. As the portentous skies darken, I know there will be an earth-soaking release, and magic show of lights. All the sensible little mammals have run into their holes, curled up in fury balls to wait out the storm. But here I sit, waiting. Immovable—I'm willing to get wet to be an eye-witness to earth shaking wonder. A wonder belied but the mundane habit of routine. I don't know anymore. I have become increasingly habituated to my place, complacent in Garden with all its walls built by the formulaic and prescribed—by rules."

Here Irivne paused, tearing his violet eyes away from the setting sun and crashing them into Squall's stormy gray ones.

"Now listen up, Squally, because this is where your childhood comes to play," Irvine said, impulsively reaching for Squall's hand and loosely entwining their fingers before continuing.

"This inescapable urge to get lost, to get swept away, that's what I feel every summer. That's what I long for every summer. As the semester winds down I can see in my mind the lazy afternoons of summer, all dusty sunshine and fresh cut grass, the balmy evenings sitting under a patchwork quilt of stars.

"I adore the imprisonment of the year if only for the jailbreak of summer. And maybe that's why the transition always squeezes my heart. How do I reconcile the two disparate parts of my soul?"

The question was asked so searchingly that Squall almost thought the cowboy wanted him to answer. Instead, Irvine took off his hat and set it delicately beside him in the grass before swiftly reaching back to pull off the leather strap that bound his hair. Obstruction removed, Irvine plopped his torso on the ground, hands behind his head.

"And maybe this is the change. I'm beginning to understand I can't expect the unbelievable. Last year will never happen again, getting lost in a plot so much bigger than me, dealing with the awe-inspiring daily.

"When I was young, my whole life was summer. School and all that jazz was only a distraction, selfishly keeping me from getting lost in a dream. But as I've grown, summer has become less and less my default self. Yeah, I helped save the world from an evil sorcerer when I was only 17. But, whether I like it or not, I now live in a spider-web of interlacing schedules and expectations. And now I know, too, that this isn't bad. It's growing up.

"So maybe the change is also this: I'm not Peter Pan. I realize the lunacy of gallivanting around in green tights with faeries for friends, of living in a world ruled by magic and color. So this could be the last time I get this feeling, this tension of the spirit, this potential energy before a new season. And I want to enjoy it."

Irvine trailed off, gaze fixed on the sky above him, a serene smile on his face. Squall glanced at his hand still intertwined with the gunman's, before following his gaze to the sky. The setting sun had transformed the sky into a fiery kaleidoscope above the gray churning water. A distant whoop of joy drifted to his hears on the soft breeze, signaling that the girls had finally succeeded in their attempt at lighting a fire. Fire, the glittering gold of sand, the vibrant colors of the fading sun—for some reason everything made him think of Irvine. _Maybe that's why he's so connected with summer. They seem to have been created from the same color pallet._

Squall hear a quiet rustle of soft leather and grass and suddenly Irvine was standing over him, hand outstretched.

"And, I'm going to enjoy it, dammit," the gunman affirmed, picking up where he left off. "Maybe for the last time deeply. Summer has always stolen my heart, my imagination, my soul. So here's to summer."

Met with the full force of Irvine's smile, Squall couldn't help but return it with a small smile of his own. As the Balamb Lion accepted the proffered hand, he finally understood. The shifting one feels of their internal course, the expectation and opportunity to get lost in something sun-kissed, to get lost in a season.

_Here's to summer indeed._

_***_

**Author's Note: **Feedback's always appreciated!


End file.
